Dark Creations
by Alexannah
Summary: - Follow-on from 'Memoirs of a Broken Mother' - Harry was Voldemort's own creation, but unknowingly left to grow up as the Boy Who Lived. When he finds out the truth, he decides he wants to know his birth mother - even if she's a Death Eater.
1. Feeling Blue

**Summary:** Harry was created by Voldemort as the Ultimate Weapon, but declared a failure and left at the Evans'. Twelve years later he discovers the truthand decides he wants to know his birth mother – even if she's a Death Eater.

**Author's notes:** This is a follow-on fic from "Memoirs of a Broken Mother", a one-shot from Bellatrix's point of view.

**Dark Creations**

by Alexannah

**Chapter One: Feeling Blue**

A tall, pale wizard was striding up and down a dungeon in a rage. He was completely bald, wore long black robes and when he turned, Harry saw he had red eyes and a nose like a snake's.

"A failure. _Failure!_" he spat, sweeping a collection of potions off a table onto the floor where they smashed. "That was the last way. It is not possible."

"My Lord," a woman said nervously, "it was not a complete failure. The child can still be invaluable to us."

"You think I would risk him turning against me?" Voldemort hissed. "No, without him completely under my control**,** he is too dangerous. That boy will grow up to be more powerful than myself and Dumbledore put together. He must be destroyed."

The woman gasped, but Voldemort did not seem to notice. She was young and pretty, pale with long**,** dark hair. She remained where she was, seemingly in shock, as the dream changed.

Harry was back at the Dursleys'. He was sitting on the kitchen table while a small pig with blonde hair made faces at him. Oh, wait – it was Dudley.

"For the last time, Petunia, I am not having one of _them_ in the house!"

"Goodness knows I'm not happy about it either Vernon, but I don't have much of a choice! The letter said we would be safe as long as he was with us. We'll be paid to look after him until he's eleven. And I know I hated her guts, but Lily _was_ my sister. And besides, at the moment he's too young to do – anything. We should at least give it a try."

Uncle Vernon was purple in the face. Harry looked at the two people arguing. Perhaps they needed cheering up. When his Mama and Dada argued, he would make them laugh.

"Fine," Vernon grunted. "We'll give it a try. But no M-word." With that he stormed out of the room. Petunia sighed and looked round at Harry, only to let out a shriek as she saw he was grinning at her and covered in bright blue hair.

Petunia grabbed the frying pan and hit him so hard he tumbled off the table.

"Don't ever do that again!" she yelled, and little Harry decided he wouldn't. When the older Harry woke, hot and shivery, he only briefly pondered the meaning of the dream – memory? – before falling back asleep. By morning both were forgotten.

* * *

The castle was unnaturally quiet – the end-of-year exams were in progress. Harry's scar had been prickling ever since his detention in the Forest**,** and on top of that he had a sore throat, general headache and a sort of all-over ache. When trying to do last-minute revision, his head swam and his eyes itched and he couldn't take anything in.

"Harry, you're not well. I really think you ought to go to Madam Pomfrey."

"I'm fine," Harry muttered. He was determined to get through the exams, ill or not, and the last thing he felt like was the Matron fussing over him. His constant fear of Voldemort turning up in the castle didn't help matters.

"Just two more exams, Hermione. Okay? _Then_ I'll go to the Hospital Wing if you insist. Just let me get into second year first."

His penultimate exam was Transfiguration theory. Professor McGonagall gave him a hard look as he sat down at the desk. He quickly dropped his gaze and avoided her eye, swallowing the urge to cough.

"You may begin."

Harry squeezed his eyes closed for a few moments before opening them and willed them and his mind to focus on the paper. All that he had revised seemed to be slipping away. All around him he could hear the scratching of quills on parchment – he hadn't even written his name.

At least he knew that. Harry dipped his quill into the ink and wrote his name at the top. The letters came out rather shaky**,** and to his intense annoyance he realised he'd misspelt his own surname. In his frustration he knocked over the ink bottle, spilling the contents all over his blank exam paper.

"Mr Potter, do you need another paper?"

"Yes please, Professor," Harry said in a low voice. He felt like throwing the empty ink bottle at the blackboard. Instead he rubbed his tired eyes, telling himself to get a grip.

Professor McGonagall gave him another paper and cleaned the mess with a flick of her wand before leaning in towards him and saying quietly, "Potter, are you not feeling well?"

There was no way he was going to let her send him to Madam Pomfrey. "I'm fine, Professor. Thanks." Harry took out a spare ink bottle and determinedly wrote his name – correctly this time – at the top of the new paper.

She returned to the front, and Harry forced his mind to concentrate. He started writing on the paper, not really knowing clearly what he was writing about. His scar gave a particularly painful twinge and he grimaced. To his horror, when he glanced up at the clock he saw thirty precious minutes had already passed. Half an hour! Of an hour-long exam!

His train of writing trailed off**,** and he re-read what he'd written so far, not understanding half of it. His head was beginning to pound**,** and his throat tickled. He put his head in his hands, eyes shut, trying to think of all the lessons he'd attended that year. It seemed too distant, even though the last one had only been a week ago. Harry was almost crying in frustration and jumped a mile when Professor McGonagall spoke again from beside him.

"Are you sure you're all right, Potter? You really don't look well."

Harry looked up at her. He looked down at his jumbled mess of an exam attempt. He looked at the clock. And he gave in.

"Actually Professor, I'm not feeling too good …"

He saw Ron and Hermione watching anxiously as Professor McGonagall led him out of the room, and hoped they wouldn't muck up their own exams out of worry. It was bad enough that he was going to fail.

Professor McGonagall accompanied him to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey looked him over and took his temperature.

"Bed," she said firmly, throwing him a pair of pyjamas. Harry changed slowly, trying not to jar his aching head, and crawled gratefully into bed. The cool, soft bedclothes were a relief**,** and he sighed, feeling some of his tension slip away. Madam Pomfrey returned with two evil-smelling potions; one she said for the fever, the other a painkiller.

Professor McGonagall had stayed in the Hospital Wing until after he'd taken the potions. She left after a "Get well soon, Potter**,**" and he lay listening to her retreating footsteps. Madam Pomfrey went to check on another patient**,** and he was left alone, in peace and quiet, the pain ebbing away and his mind starting to shut down. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey was woken suddenly by an alarm in her quarters. It was enchanted to alert her if a patient needed urgent attention. Hurrying into the ward in her dressing-gown, it was easy to tell which student needed help.

Harry Potter was fitfully turning and moaning softly in his sleep. Poppy took his temperature and saw it had heightened considerably.

An hour later, she sent an urgent Firecall. "Minerva, I need you in the ward. We've got an urgent case of _Dissimilis Magus_."

Her friend swore as she Flooed over. "D.M? That's not good. Who's the patient?"

"Minerva – I'm afraid it's Harry."

Minerva's face paled. "Oh, no."

"I need all hands on deck, and I've got to ask Severus to make a potion. Although I don't know where he's going to get the blood from …"

"Blood?"

* * *

_Finally_. Minerva pulled James Potter's old medical file off of the shelf. It had taken her nearly half an hour to work her way through the Hospital Wing records to find it. Some of the files seemed to be organised by date and others by name. Making a mental note to get Poppy to re-organise her system, she opened it and started hunting for any mention of the D.M**.** gene, in either his own or his family's history. Frowning, she found none on either count.

Lily Evans' was the same. Minerva paused, confused. _Dissimilus Magus_ was a genetic disorder, an imbalance of the different magic cells. It didn't just appear out of nowhere**;** Harry had to have inherited it from _someone_. And the only treatment was a potion containing blood of a relative with the gene, so Minerva was hoping wherever in his family tree it came from, there would be someone still living with the gene.

"All right, let's try a different approach," she said to herself before speaking clearly to the filing system. "All records featuring _Dissimilis Magus_, please."

She realised her mistake when she was bombarded with at least a hundred-odd files. After the first one hit her in the face, she directed them all back to the shelves with her wand.

"Okay, let's try again." She thought. "Cross-reference _Dissimilis Magus_ with patient number 713569."

For a moment she wasn't sure anything would happen. She was just about to give up and think what else she could try when one lone file dropped at her feet.

_Bellatrix Black_.

Minerva stared at it. "That can't be right." Slowly she bent down and picked it up.

_DISSIMILIS MAGUS_ was written clearly on the first page. Minerva snapped it shut. All the pureblood families were related, she knew that, but the Potters and the Blacks were something like third-cousins at the most – too distant for the potion to work.

On a whim, she tried, "Patient number 713569 and related files."

James and Lily's files, which she had replaced, stayed right where they were. The group of files thrown at her, besides Harry's own, were made up of several more Blacks, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape and even her own husband.

She laughed to herself. The system was obviously messed up. She paused, however, as she noticed another file on the floor, a file that had nearly vanished under a set of shelves.

_Tom Riddle_.

* * *

"You took your time."

"How is he?" Minerva asked anxiously.

"A little quieter." Poppy gestured towards the bed. Harry looked more peaceful now; he had stopped tossing and moaning, at least. Severus was beside Poppy, a list in his hand which he was perusing.

"I trust you have a name?" he said bluntly.

"What?"

"Who Potter inherited D.M**.** from, so we know who to chase with a syringe."

Severus, cracking a joke. A rare occurrence, and not at the best moment.

"I'm sorry, I don't know where it came from. Lily didn't have it, and nor did James or any of his family. Poppy, I think there might be something wrong with your filing – besides your organisation of it, I mean."

"What's wrong with my filing?" Poppy said indignantly.

"I tried asking it for files related to Harry**,** and it just threw _these_ at me." She placed the files in the matron's hands. "I think you ought to try getting some answers from the system while I watch Harry."

"Minerva, there's nothing wrong with my system," Poppy insisted, passing the files to Severus without so much as glancing at them. "It knows the DNA of every student that's passed through the school and searches based on that."

"And that makes it foolproof, does it?"

"Minerva," Severus said slowly.

"Severus, why don't you focus on the other ingredients needed, and we'll … What's the matter?"

He was staring down at the files that Poppy had handed him with an expression of such shock on his face that both Minerva and the matron were lost for words. Finally, he broke the silence.

"It can't be."

**TBC …**


	2. Blood is Thicker than Water

**Author's note:** I forgot to add in the disclaimer last chapter that part of the concept for this story came from Aurilia's challenge, which I have also began writing if you want to check out _Thicker Than Water_.

**Chapter Two: Blood is Thicker than Water**

"All right, what's going on?" Albus Dumbledore said as he strode into the Hospital Wing.

Severus hurried over to him. "Albus, I need to talk to you. In private." There was a pause. "It's important."

"Severus, can't it wait?" Minerva said from behind him. "Harry Potter has D.M. We need to figure out -"

"Harry has Dissimilis Magus?" Albus asked, frowning.

"Yes," Severus said impatiently, "and what I have to say can _help_ him. Trust me."

Albus nodded. "All right. Just give me a moment." He made his way over to Harry's bedside and looked down on his sleeping pupil. Harry's temperature was still far above normal, but he didn't look too fretful at the moment. Minerva was hovering with anxiety in her eyes, and Albus squeezed her hand gently and kissed her on the cheek in assurance before leaving with Severus.

"So, what is it you need to tell me, Severus?" Albus asked as he closed Poppy's office door behind them.

The Potions Master looked uncharacteristically flustered; he didn't seem able to keep his hands still, and when he spoke, there was both anxiety and hesitancy in his voice. "Albus. I have to confess, there are … certain facts that you are not aware of. Concerning the Dark Lord."

Albus frowned. "This has to do with Harry?"

"Apparently so." Severus sat down in Poppy's chair. "From the evidence out there, Albus, I was only conclude that Potter is adopted."

Albus blinked in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"Poppy's file system is based on DNA. Whoever Potter's real parents are, it knows. When Minerva asked it for files relating to him, it threw out _these_."

Albus thumbed through the files Severus passed him. "So, the system is faulty. Nobody in the wizarding world is related closely enough to all of these people here."

"That's just it, Albus. There _was_. One baby boy, supposedly died twelve years ago."

Albus looked at Severus sharply. "Explain yourself, Severus."

Severus took a deep breath. "When the Dark Lord was at the height of his power, he performed many experiments. I don't know of most of them, and most of the ones I did know of I told you about." He paused. "But not this one."

Albus didn't speak, just continued regarding Severus with his piercing blue stare. Severus felt as if he was a student again, confessing to performing a particularly nasty jinx on the Marauders.

"He found this old spell to create life from magic donors, and used it. His plan was to use the child as a weapon, but he found his theory on stripping a human being of the ability to feel what he called "weak" emotions was no more than a theory, and demanded the child be killed. I thought he had been."

There was a pause before Albus spoke. "And you think Harry is the one."

"Bellatrix was his mother," Severus said. "She suffered from D.M. in the past, and I know her sisters both have the gene too. It's one of them you want for the potion. As for his paternity, well, not all the donors knew their DNA was taken for this." Severus met Albus' eyes guiltily. "I took yours. Mine was also used and the Dark Lord's himself and Remus'."

"Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that – Harry is …"

"Technically, he's your son, Albus. And also, technically, mine, and Remus', and the Dark Lord's. As well as Bellatrix's."

Albus couldn't speak for several minutes. Severus sighed.

"Look Albus, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. But Remus and I had made a plan to get him away from the Dark Lord and raise him ourselves, and – I was afraid that you would want to take a different course of action. And then when Bellatrix supposedly killed him, there seemed no point." Severus stood. "I know this is a shock, it is to me too, but perhaps you ought to work on getting some blood for that potion."

* * *

Andromeda Tonks was woken early by the doorbell. Stumbling downstairs in her dressing-gown, she saw it was barely six o'clock and wondered who on earth was calling.

"Good morning, Andromeda."

She blinked a few times. "Er, morning, Professor Dumbledore. Can I help you?" Albus looked more grave than cheery, and her heart missed a beat. "Has something happened to my Dora?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Albus assured her. "I wonder … Could I?"

"Yes, yes, come in." Andromeda stepped aside to allow him into the house. "You'll have to excuse the get-up, it's very early."

"I realise that, and I apologise," Albus said, "but it is a matter of great importance, Andromeda."

"About what?" Andromeda led Albus into the kitchen. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Tea would be lovely." Albus paused. "Your sister, Bellatrix. Were you aware that she had a son?"

Andromeda nearly dropped the kettle. "Bella _what?_"

"Well, that was more of a rhetorical question really I suppose. I did not expect you knew. It seems those who did know were under the impression that he was dead. Until now, that is."

Andromeda sat down slowly at the kitchen table, the tea forgotten. "So … I have another nephew?"

"Yes, you do." Some of the twinkle came back into Albus' eye. "He is a truly remarkable boy. But -" The twinkle disappeared again. "- He's ill with D.M." Andromeda looked up sharply. "That is how we found out who he was. He does not even know at this point. Right now, the priority is to get him better. I believe you're familiar with the potion?"

Andromeda nodded. "You can have my blood, as much of it as you need."

"He will appreciate it, I'm sure."

"What's his name?" she asked.

The answer left her speechless. "Harry Potter."

* * *

As Harry started to wake up, he groaned. His head felt like it was splitting open, and he was shivering madly even though he was uncomfortably hot. He vaguely heard movement around him, and felt a hand squeeze his gently. "Harry? Are you awake?"

"Mm." He started to open his eyes, wincing at the bright whiteness of the Hospital Wing. The voice who had spoken was not familiar, and he squinted, trying to work out who was sitting beside him.

A woman slowly came into focus. She looked probably in her late thirties, with mouse-brown hair and pale skin. She smiled warmly at him when he met her eyes. "Hello, Harry. How are you feeling?"

Harry coughed. "Not good."

"My name's Andromeda Tonks." She brushed his fringe out of his eyes. "You can call me Auntie Andie if you like. Or just Andie if you prefer, I have no objections."

"Um." Harry frowned, confused. "Why would I call you Auntie? I don't know you."

"Well, according to Professor Dumbledore, I am your aunt." Harry's eyes widened, and she nodded. "Yes. He said you've always been told that you had no magical relatives, but it appears that you actually do. Nobody knew until now."

The headache forgotten, Harry stammered, "I-I've got relatives other than the Dursleys?"

"A fair few, it seems." Andromeda kissed him gently on the forehead. "But we can talk about them later. Just focus on getting better for now, all right?"

"Okay." Harry couldn't believe it. He had other relatives, ones who cared about him – at least, this one did.

"Harry." Andromeda's tone was more serious now. "You are very ill. Madam Pomfrey can explain better than I can, but you're going to have to take a potion to get better. It's being made as we speak, so try not to worry, all right?"

"I'll try," Harry promised.

"She's going to tell you what's wrong now," Andromeda soothed. "I'll leave you to talk with her, but I'll come back in a little while, okay?"

Harry nodded. "Okay. Thank you," he whispered.

His head was spinning as she left. He didn't want her to go. The only family he knew cared about him, and she was leaving him to the strict matron.

Although Madam Pomfrey kept her tone business-like as she spoke to him, there was more softness in her eyes than usual. "Harry, you have a condition called _Dissimilis Magus_ - D.M. for short."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It means that you have an imbalance of the magic cells in your body. There are many different kinds of magic cells," Madam Pomfrey explained. "Anyone with the disorder has more of some than others. It's not life-threatening in itself, you can live a perfectly normal life not even aware of it, but sometimes the majority cells can decide that the minority cells are a threat, and begin to multiply very quickly and attack them."

"So that's what's happening to me?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"And it's life-threatening."

"Yes. Even though having half your magic cells will not kill you – your magic would just be irratic – the cells don't stop there; they start attacking everything."

"Andie said you had a potion for me. Does that cure it?"

"It doesn't get rid of the D.M, but it does revert your cells back to the way they were."

Harry thought a moment. "Does that mean I can get ill again?"

"It is a possibility, but now we know you have the disorder, precautions can be taken."

* * *

"Okay, here we are." Hermione dropped a heavy book down on the library table. "_Dissimilis Magus_."

Ron eyed the page. "That's definitely what Madam Pomfrey said?"

She nodded. "I've heard of it, but wasn't sure exactly what it was."

"Ditto. So, what is it?"

Hermione perused the page. "Basically, some of Harry's magic cells are attacking the others."

"That can't be good. How's it cured?" Ron paused, an uncomfortable thought striking him. "Harry _will_ be cured, right?"

"Yes, there's a potion – containing – oh."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"It needs the blood of a relative with the gene."

"Yuck, that's gross – _Oh_. I get your point." Ron considered. "Couldn't they use one of the Dursleys?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, Muggles can't get it. They don't have enough magic cells in them."

"I didn't know they had any."

"Everyone has some, the difference between Muggles and wizards is that wizards have enough to be able to use a wand. Magic cells can't be picked up by Muggle technology. But that's not the point. Any wizard who has the gene also has the condition, because it's a dominant gene – like having brown eyes. So the Dursleys' blood would be useless."

"Why can't they use the blood of someone else with the condition? Why does it have to be a relative?"

"Because there's an almost infinite number of variations, Ron. The only way to guarantee that the donor has the same as you is to use a relative. Otherwise – you would just die faster."

Ron shuddered. "So Harry's going to die." His voice was suddenly hollow.

Hermione shook her head. "No, there must be _something_. Madam Pomfrey made it sound like they were working on something." Ron brightened slightly. "We just have to hope they succeed."

**TBC …**


End file.
